Apple Blossom Summer
by boltandthunder
Summary: Harry discovers life after the war with Ginny. "Apple blossoms are a promise. Be patient, and fruit will grow."    Originally written for the 2010 hg silverlining Summerfest


Author's Note: Thanks to the wonderful aggiebell90 for betaing! Your suggestions were fabulous, and you kept on top of that pesky present tense... :) Thanks to hg_silverlining for putting on the Summer Fest! It was good fun. Original prompt was "Harry and Ginny finding their way back to one another after the Battle of Hogwarts. (Yes, I know it's been done to death, but apparently I can't get enough of it. :))"

* * *

><p><strong>May 3rd<strong>

Harry knows he has probably been clean for a while now, but he can't bring himself to turn off the water. The scalding jet has turned his skin pink, burning away the dirt and blood of the battle that had ended not twenty-four hours ago. He rolls his head to the side and reaches back to work a knot out of his shoulder, feeling it pop beneath his fingers. The last time he's had a chance to bathe was merely two days ago. "It feels like I haven't showered in two weeks, not two days,"he mumbles to himself, reaching over to reluctantly twist the worn tap to the "off" position. Opening the curtain just enough to grab the towel he had set out earlier, he does a precursory drying of his hair and torso before wrapping the towel around his waist. He climbs out of the shower, stepping over the rim of the tub and standing in front of the mirror.

Harry should have noticed a lot of things in the mirror in the third floor loo of the Burrow. He should have noticed that he is once again far too skinny for his now tall frame. He should have noticed that his shoulders are broader, his muscles are far more defined, and whiskers he didn't even have two years ago now grow thick across his chin. If he hadn't been so distracted, maybe he would have noticed all the changes that wrought his body over the past nine months without a mirror.

But Harry is engrossed with the bruise that graces his chest. The fist-sized bruise paints the center of his chest with dark hues of purple and blue. He traces the jagged grey edges and draws an invisible line to the center. In a moment of pure human curiosity, he pokes it experimentally, drawing a wince.

"Dear, whatever you did to get that bruise, poking it is not going to make it any better." Harry jumps, making the towel slide from his slender hips. He quickly bends down to retrieve it, but it isn't until he has once again swathed his hips in it that he realizes who, or rather what, has been addressing him. "I mean really, dear," the mirror continues, "Stop maiming yourself, put some clothes on, and get out and get some fresh air! Seeing how peaky you look, you could use some."

Harry stares dumbfounded at the top of the mirror for a moment, as if that is where it keeps its brains, then drops the towel and reaches for his pants with speed unthinkable for someone in his state of exhaustion. He barrels out of the loo twenty-two seconds later with his shirt in one hand and his shorts held up with the other, eager to get out of the careful scrutiny of the mirror. So eager is he, in fact, that he is already halfway up the stairs to Ron's room and barely hears the mirror's departing words.

"And _do _try to do something about that hair!"

* * *

><p><strong>May 7th<strong>

Harry cautiously opens the door of the Burrow and winces when it gives an almighty _creak._ He pokes his head out the door as if no one could have heard him all the same, and prays to Merlin she doesn't notice.

She does. Ginny is staring at him, her arms crossed over her chest, sunk low into the old green, gold, and maroon striped couch that inhabits the far corner of the covered porch that looks out onto the backyard and orchard of the Burrow. Everything about her screams _Don__'__t __Bother. __No__ solicitors. __Come__ back__ later. __Out __of__ order.__ I __have __a __mean__ Bat-Bogey__ Hex __and __I __am __not __afraid __to __freaking__ use __it._

But Harry isn't about to quit running into danger just because some evil mastermind is dead. That would be boring.

Not to say he isn't wary. Harry nonchalantly approaches her, absentmindedly tracing the bruise on his chest through his t-shirt as he does so. She watches him the whole way. The entire two meters. Needless to say, this unnerves him. When he finally reaches the couch, he awkwardly stands in front of her, his hands in his pockets. Her expression does not change. That doesn't do much for his confidence, either.

But Harry decides to throw caution to the wind. Who needs caution? He throws himself down onto the couch beside her, burrowing into it and mimicking her folded arms. He glances over at her. She is glaring straight ahead, resolutely ignoring him. Harry playfully nudges her with his shoulder. She doesn't budge. He does it again. Still nothing. After a third time, he is rewarded with half a smile. Just half.

Harry wants a whole smile. He wants teeth and lips, curved up into her delicious laughing grin. Actually, if he's honest with himself, he wants lips and tongue, preferably kissing his own lips. No, not preferably. Absolutely.

Harry goes in for the shoulder nudge, but this time keeps leaning on Ginny, forcing her to bend over uncomfortably. She tries to push back with her own shoulder, but he's stronger, and he's winning. Ginny counteracts his attack by shoving against his chest with her hands, accidently pushing against his bruise. Harry doesn't really care, though, because she's smiling now. And that just motivates him to keep that grin on her face. He determines the only way to do that is to play dirty. He tickles her sides, drawing shrieks and giggles and waking up that monster in his chest, and successfully pins her to the cushion of the couch. It only takes one tension filled moment for their laughter to die down.

Ginny pushes Harry off of her and resumes her earlier position of crossed arms and straightforward posture, but this time without the glare. Harry resumes his own position of gazing at her. They are each caught up in their own scenery; Ginny looks over the Burrow's orchard, full of spring blooms, and Harry gazes over the locks of red and sprinkles of freckles he's dreamed about for months.

"I think I'm going to make you woo me," she says softly. She turns to face him as she says this, and he wants to kiss her. But he doesn't.

"Well," he murmurs, not taking his eyes off her thin lips, "I do need a new challenge to take up my time now that Voldemort is gone."

She purses her lips in a contained grin. Harry thinks she might be doing it on purpose. He really, _really_ wants to kiss the purse away. "I really don't think trying to get a girlfriend is the equivalent to destroying the most evil wizard to every walk this earth."

Harry suppresses a grin and gives an exaggerated shudder. "Shows what you know."

Ginny snorts and nudges his shoulder. They don't talk much that evening, but that doesn't bother Harry too much. For the first time in his life, he has nothing but time.

* * *

><p><strong>May 31st<strong>

They are sitting on the couch again. Harry has noticed that it is Ginny's favorite spot to mope, and it has become Harry's favorite spot to "woo" her. Or at least attempt to.

She has wrapped her arms around her stomach in an attempt to stop his efforts at holding her hand. He huffs in exaggerated anger, making her giggle. This just makes Harry giddy. That's when it starts to rain.

Beautiful, steady rain pours down into the garden. Slow drips of water leak through the old Imperturbable charms on the roof of the porch, leaving a trail of water down Ginny's arm. She jumps up when she feels this and heads for the door to the kitchen.

Harry has other plans. Not only is he not nearly finished hearing her laugh tonight, he could definitely use some laughter himself. He jumps to his feet and grabs Ginny by the forearm. She barely has time to question him before he drags her down the porch steps and into the rain.

"Harry, what –" But she is cut off mid-sentence when Harry takes both of her hands and runs around her as fast as he can, making her pivot with him. He is laughing, laughing at her dumbfounded expression, at the fact that he can no longer see out of his glasses because the rain is gathering on them and making it impossible to see, and at the fact that he has just dragged Ginevra Weasley out into the rain.

Harry stops their whirling, which now has Ginny laughing as well, and stumbles off into the row of apple trees. The floor of the orchard is blanketed with apple blossoms, and he bends down to scoop one up. Straightening, he bounds back over to where Ginny is still dizzily swaying while combing back her soaked hair. His laughter dies as he presents her with the blossom. "For you," he says over the rain, which is now pouring harder than ever. Her face grows more serious as well as she lightly touches the pink petals. For a moment, Harry is worried she has somehow offended her. Does she not like apple blossoms? Does an apple blossom mean something horribly offensive or something?

Harry is about to murmur an apology and draw his hand away when she covers it with her own, capturing the blossom between them. She meets his eyes with that fierce expression that makes him want to melt into her for days. Sunlit ones. But rainy ones are all right too. "Dance with me," she says.

This causes Harry a moment of panic. "I – I don't know how."

"I'm not really very good. But I'll teach you what I know." And she grasps Harry's hand more firmly in hers, crushing the blossom between them. She brings their clenched hands slightly out and up, and then without ever taking her eyes off his, she guides his other hand to her waist. He doesn't think he can move, or talk, much less dance, as he settles his hand on the wet fabric of her blouse that's clinging to her skin. She tentatively places her hand just below his shoulder, on his bicep, and she starts to dance.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, Harry's masculinity is screaming at him to lead, because he has always been told that men are supposed to lead when dancing. But apparently Harry's masculinity has never had a willing, soaked-to-the-bone Ginny in its arms. If it had, it probably would have let Ginny lead too. Harry just gazes at the top of her darkened mane as they sway to imaginary music, wondering how on earth his plot to seduce her got turned on him.

She continues her makeshift dance, shuffling their feet right-left-right, then left-right-left. Harry follows for a while, and then bites his lip in an expression of determination. He holds their joined hands a little higher, and gently pushes her waist so she twirls through. Apparently she does not quite expect him to catch on so quickly, because she slips on the wet grass and falls on his chest, forcing him to catch her.

They stay there for a moment before Harry decides to use this mishap to his advantage. He tilts her chin up to look at him, to make sure that she knows what he is doing, and guides her hands to rest at the nape of his neck. He grasps her waist and pulls her closer, wrapping both of his arms around her. Then he starts to sway to his own imaginary music, and she rests her head on his chest, just above the fading bruise.

She has dropped the blossom somewhere between Harry trying to twirl her and falling into his arms. But there are many more apple blossoms to be gathered on the floor of the orchard.

* * *

><p><strong>June 1st<strong>

Ron pauses in shoveling eggs in his mouth to gape at Harry. "Mate, I don't think I've seen you smile this much since… well, since the end of sixth year. What happened to you? D'you think Hermione slipped you something when she was here the other day?"

Harry hides yet another grin by taking a sip of tea. He glances down at his bare chest and traces the purple outline of the bruise. It still is vivid colors of purple and green, but doesn't hurt to his touch. "Things are looking up, that's all."

June 9th

Mrs. Weasley is shoving a small framed needlepoint at Harry, one that has always been hung above the fireplace in the Weasley's sitting room, but has always escaped his attention.

"This was Ginny's first needlepoint project, all without a wand." Mrs. Weasley fairly explodes with pride. "I can't bare to throw it away, though I know Ginny hates it."

The crooked pink and green stitching, surrounded by delicate flowers and green apples, gives a simple message, but Harry can't tear his eyes away from it:

"Apple blossoms are a promise. Be patient, and fruit will grow."

* * *

><p><strong>June 24th <strong>

Molly hasn't felt like baking since the battle, so Harry and Ginny decide to try their hand. After inspecting the bowl of brownie batter for a good thirty seconds, Harry taps the wooden spoon with his wand. It starts to rotate like the Muggle mixer his aunt had, beating the flour, eggs, and cocoa into submission. He turns to Ginny, who is looking at the recipe Molly had left out for them.

"Hey, what pan should we –" But he stops when he suddenly feels a wet and sticky blob hit the left side of his face. He reaches up and scrapes a bit off – his fingers are coated with brownie batter. He whirls his head around to inspect his makeshift mixer. The wooden spoon is whirring around the bowl, flinging pieces of batter on all the surrounding surfaces, including Harry. The kitchen is a mess.

He can't understand it, but Ginny just laughs. She laughs so hard, actually, that she holds her sides and closes her eyes. Her head tilts back, exposing her white neck. Harry loves it. He loves her. He has to be closer to her.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" Harry scrapes some getaway batter from the counter and leaps to Ginny, grabbing a hold of her forearm and spreading the batter over that very neck and up onto her jaw line. She screams with delight, a sort of _How __dare __you!__Don__'__t __you__ dare __stop,_ sort of scream, and goes to try to do the same to him. He doesn't let her, however.

Instead, he puts one hand on either side of her, effectively pinning her to the counter, and kisses her.

She kisses him back without any hesitation, curling her fingers around his arms.

Later, Harry wonders what they must have looked like, happily snogging away while brownie bits flew around Molly's previously spotless kitchen. He thinks they probably must have looked fantastic.

* * *

><p><strong>July 7th <strong>

Teddy Lupin just might be scarier than girls and Voldemort put together.

His godson (Harry still wasn't able to call him that) is sitting on Harry's knees, cooing at the miniature model broomstick zooming about the porch. Harry sinks back into the couch and brings Teddy back with him, settling him against his chest and bringing a hand gently against his stomach. Gurgling with delight, Teddy opens and closes his fist when the model _Firebolt_ zooms especially close to him. It wasn't hard for Harry to give that to Teddy, considering it was Tonks who had first given it to Harry.

A million questions are invading Harry's mind. _What __if __I __mess __this __up? __What __if __he __tries __to __call __me __Dad? __I __don__'__t __think __I __can __be __Dad __right __now__… __What __if __he __hates __me?__ What __were __Remus __and __Tonks __thinking, __making__ me __godfather? __I __mean, __I __wasn__'__t __even __supposed __to __have __survived __through __the __week! __What __if __I __die __later __and __leave __him__ and __Andromeda __out __in__ – _

Ginny practically skips over to the couch. She plops down next to him and coos at Teddy, who grins a gummy grin and changes his wispy hair to match her vivid red. She turns her attention to Harry and gives him a smacking kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Aren't you two boys looking handsome today?" She grins and leaps up again before she can allow Harry to say anything, for which he is grateful. He is blushing too much too say anything coherent anyway.

Harry gently turns Teddy around so they are facing each other. Teddy's eyes go cross-eyed for a moment, and then turn from his previously baby blue to a dazzling green. Harry fingers the baby fine red hair at the nape of Teddy's neck and murmurs "I think I'll keep you."

* * *

><p><strong>August 8th <strong>

He wants to curse the letter for bringing him back to reality, for breaking the spell that was this endless summer.

He's been staring at it for a good ten minutes now. It only took him about forty-five seconds to read it. _Dear __Mr.__Potter,__you __saved __the__ bloody __world, __come __help__ save __it__ some __bloody __more, __we__'__ll __even__ throw __in __a __couple __of__ free __passes __through __Auror __training __because __you__'__re __Harry __Freaking __Potter._

Harry envies Ron's reaction to his own letter. Ron read it once, looked at forever-melancholy George seated at the kitchen table with a butterbeer, and set the letter on fire with his wand, sending the ashes to the bin. He then marched right on over to George and demanded a job, effectively waking George out of his three-month-long stupor. Well, he had also mumbled something about not following in Harry Freaking Potter's shadow, but Harry had chosen to ignore that.

Now Harry is just staring at this blasted letter. And thinking. And wondering what the hell he is going to do with his life. He hadn't realized that he had never planned past Voldemort.

He doesn't even notice Ginny noticing him.

* * *

><p><strong>August 11th <strong>

"So, what is it? Are you bored?"

"What? No! What are you on?"

"I thought you were happy! I thought you liked being with me!"

"I do! But Ginny, I have to do this."

"No, you really don't."

"Yes, I do. You just don't understand…"

"Oh really? And I don't suppose you're going to enlighten me?"

"Well, I don't really feel like it with the way you're acting, no."

"Oh, well that's just great. I'm leaving."

"Wait, don't go. I don't want you to go."

Ginny has already stridden three steps away from the porch, but she stops. He is afraid that she won't turn around, that he'll have to make his argument facing her perfect red plait.

"…Well?"

"Well what?" Harry is now keeping up the pretense of anger mostly out of stubbornness. He hates seeing her walk away from him.

She turns on her heel. "You need to talk if you want me to stay."

Harry takes a deep breath and unclenches his fists. "I've loved this summer. I've loved healing and dancing and just being with you. But Ginny, you have to realize, I never thought I would even _have _this summer! Previously, my life's purpose was to destroy Voldemort, and that happened. I have a chance to _do_ something with my life now, whatever I want."

Ginny hauls herself up onto the porch railing so her feet are poking through the posts. "So what do you want?"

"Well, I thought that was obvious."

"I must be an idiot. Spell it out. What do you want to do with your life?"

Harry drags a hand through his hair. "You."

"Oh."

"You didn't know?"

"I sort of thought you were going on an adventure without me again."

"Excuse me, did you not just hear that whole 'best summer of my existence' speech two seconds ago?"

"Shut up."

"I'll shut you up," he smirks, and kisses her thoroughly over the edge of the rail, curling his hand around her neck and weaving strands of red through his fingers.

She pulls away a few minutes later. "…and being an Auror?"

He rests his elbows on the railing. "I think I'd be really good at it."

"I think you would too."

Harry curls a tendril of ginger hair around his finger that has escaped from her plait. "What do you want me to do?"

"I think you should keep on living. Like you have been."

"That's going to be hard with you going to Hogwarts and me being an Auror."

"Actually, I think it's only going to get better."

* * *

><p><strong>August 31st <strong>

Harry marvels at how sitting on that old striped couch with an arm wrapped around her waist is now the most natural thing in the world. He runs his fingers lightly up and down her arm, which is wrapped around one of his knees. Harry can feel tiny goose bumps there, and has the feeling that he's probably the source of those goose bumps. He can't help but feel a bit of satisfaction at that.

The sun is quickly setting in brilliant colors of purple and fuchsia, but Harry doesn't really notice. He's too busy burying his nose in Ginny's hair and breathing deeply, determined to memorize the exact flowery scent of her hair. He finally decides that she smells like rain and brownies and Teddy and apple blossoms and the healing that comes after you get a bruise that's tender to the touch, whatever that smells like.

The last light of day has left, and autumn's chill has taken its place. Ginny stirs beside him, but Harry stands before she does and turns to her, offering his hand. "Dance with me," he all but whispers.

She smiles a sort of _I__ had __hoped__ you__ would __ask,__but__ I __didn__'__t __want __to __ask,__but __this __can__'__t __last,__but __I __hope __it __does _smile, and takes his hand. He leads her out to the apple trees, which now bear a small harvest of fruit. Harry pulls her close and begins to sway to their invisible music, not willing to think about what tomorrow promises. For now, they still have their summer.

* * *

><p><strong>September 1st <strong>

Harry knows he looks like an idiot, a nearly grown man running like a little kid after the Hogwarts Express, but he really doesn't care what Merlin thinks. He jogs after Ginny, waving like a madman after her. She waves back, laughing and teary-eyed, sort of like _You __are __so __barmy. __I __love __you, __never __stop_, and Harry can't get enough of that look.

He runs until the platform runs out, but he'll never really stop chasing after her. This he's sure of.

* * *

><p>A few credits:<p>

"beat into submission": used unwittingly from the movie "Julie & Julia"

According to , apple blossoms symbolize promise.

Thanks for reading!


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